


Finding Brian Kinney's Prostate

by Frayach



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Anal Play, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, PWP, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frayach/pseuds/Frayach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a title like that, do you really need a summary?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Brian Kinney's Prostate

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of an unbearably long, excruciatingly boring, Friday afternoon conference call.

He looks bored. I’ve got my middle finger buried in his ass, and he looks bored. Not to mention vaguely annoyed. This is obviously taking much longer than he thinks is reasonable.

“Here?” I ask.

“Nope.”

“How about here?”

“Nope.”

He yawns, one hand covering his mouth and the other lazily stroking his cock.

“Don’t let me keep you up,” I say snappishly.

He looks down meaningfully at his half-hard cock. “Don’t worry; you’re not,” he replies.

I roll my eyes. My finger is getting tired. I pull it out, and he arches an eyebrow at me. “Giving up?”

I glare at him. Giving up? Brian should know by now that “giving up” is just not something I do.

“No, just switching hands. I’m ambidextrous, remember?”

His answering grin is sultry, and he spreads his legs a little wider when I slip the middle finger of my left hand inside him.

“How can I forget? It doesn’t matter whether you sit beside me on the left or the right,” he says. “You can give me a fantastic hand job either way.”

It’s a rare treat when he compliments my efforts to please him. Silly as it may be, I blush.

“Now if only you could demonstrate equal skill in fingering me properly. Miss my prostate and all your probing around feels like a rectal exam.”

“Remind me again – back or front?”

“Front. Just crook your finger and move it as though you’re beckoning to someone.”

“Are you sure you even have one?”

He laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Maybe you’ve worn it out . . .”

“Like a pencil eraser when you use it too much?”

“Something like that.”

He rolls his eyes again and then lays his head back on his pillow. Now that he’s not looking at me with that mixture of amusement and irritation, I can focus on my search and enjoy the process. Brian’s never let me put anything in his ass before. Not that I haven’t tried when I’ve been blowing him, but he’d always clenched his ass cheeks and said something like “nice try, Sunshine. Better luck next time.” But tonight had been different; he’d taken my hand and put it between his legs in a wordless, but unmistakable, invitation and then handed me the KY. I almost wrecked it all by asking “are you sure?” as though he was a virgin. Instead, I kept my mouth shut and coated my finger with lube.

“Put some on me, too,” he’d said. “I prefer it wet, but not so wet that my ass gets all squishy like a pussy.”

I’d shuddered. Granted, I’ve never seen – let alone touched – a pussy, but even the mere thought of it grossed me out.

“That good?” I’d asked.

“Perfect.”

I’d tried to do what he usually did to me – tracing a circle around his opening while slowly increasing the pressure until, rather unexpectedly, my fingertip slipped inside him. He’d taken a deep breath and relaxed into the mattress.

It’d felt amazing. It felt intimate when he did it to me, but doing it to him seemed even more so. Or maybe it was just because it was Brian I was doing it to – Brian of the Untouchable Asshole. He’d spread his legs a little wider when I began pushing my finger deeper. The fit was a snug; I could tell that he was squeezing my finger. I’d wanted to watch my hand, but I wasn’t in the right position. His body was so warm and smooth and soft on the inside; such an exciting difference from his hard cock and hard muscles and always-slightly-mocking gaze.

I’d started fingering him, sliding my finger in deep and then sliding it almost all the way out again. He’d made that little humming sound he makes sometimes when I’m sucking him – a sound of pleasure and contentment. He’d started stroking himself, and I was complimenting myself on my natural skill, but then, after a minute or two, he’d reached down and grabbed my wrist.

“Time to get me off,” he’d said. “Rub my prostate.”

I’d frantically tried to recall the unit in my biology class when he learned about the male reproductive system. Wasn’t the prostate some kind of gland or something? My grandfather had gotten prostate cancer when I was in junior high. Unwillingly, I’d imagined a doctor with rubber-gloved hands shoving his finger up Gramp’s butt. Ugh, ugh, _ugh_! I’d rid my mind of the barf-inducing image by refocusing on Brian and how good he felt.

How hard could it be? I could stick my finger in only so far. Brian was able to find mine – at least I thought he had. There seems to be something up there that, when rubbed, makes you feel like you’re going to come _right that instant_ , but you don’t. It’s like being suspended in space before gravity kicks in and pulls you back down to earth.

I’d poked and prodded what seemed like every inch, but Brian had no response other than an eventual sigh of exasperation.

“Remind me where it is?” I ask. Beads of anxious sweat are starting to form along my hair line.

“Right up against my pelvic bone. God, what is this? Anatomy 101? Will you need to dissect me like a fetal pig before you can figure this out?”

I slide my finger in as deep as I can and press hard.

He smacks the back of my hand “Ow. You don’t need to squash my seminal vesicles. It’s not that deep inside. It’s basically just right above my perineum. You only need to go as far as your knuckle.”

Such unsexy names for such sexy parts.

“Am I even remotely close?” I ask. I’m worried he’ll run out of patience and make me stop before I find it. If that happens, he might never let me touch his ass again. I’ve learned that people rarely get second chances with Brian, regardless of what those second chances pertain to.

“Remotely,” he says wearily.

Maybe adding another finger would help. I don’t ask him if I can, I just do it. I expect him to freak out, but he doesn’t. Instead he bends his knees and lifts his ass off the mattress to assure me the greatest possible access.

“Very resourceful,” he says admiringly.

God, he looks hot! He’s obviously starting to enjoy himself now that I’ve added another finger. His face and throat are pink and shiny with sweat, and his dick starts getting fully hard in his hand.

“Hold still,” he says breathlessly. “Let me show you.”

I keep my fingers crooked, but I stop moving them. I watch, mesmerized, as he begins fucking himself, canting his hips up and rocking them until . . .

He must’ve succeeded in rubbing his mythical prostate against my fingertips because his whole body jerks hard, and he winces with pleasure.

“Right there,” he moans. “Right there. Can you feel it?”

“I can,” I say, and it’s true. There’s the little bastard. Finally! It’s a bump about the size of an almond. I press it gently, and his body jerks again. It looks like he’s having convulsions. I try not to think about _The Exorcist_.

“Watch this,” he says as though he’s a kid who’s about to jump over a puddle on his skateboard. I watch as he lets go of his cock. “Steady pressure. That’s right, that’s right. Just like that, _oh, fuck_ . . .”

I watch his body seize as he comes all over his stomach, and at the same time feel his channel clench my fingers and then release and then clench again in rhythmic contractions. He’s wearing that spectacular come face of his and moaning quietly.

Holy shit!

When his body stops shuddering, he takes hold of my wrist and pulls my fingers out. I resist, and he laughs breathlessly. “It’ll be awkward trying to explain to our friends why we’re walking around with your fingers embedded in my ass. Plus, I have to piss; you’ve been poking at my bladder since last week.”

Last week. Prick. It couldn’t have been longer than a couple minutes. I lie back against the pillows and bend my spread legs. One good turn deserves another – even if, technically, it was he who’d made himself come. Clearly, he should give me a quiz. Nothing enhances memory like a second unaided attempt. Or three. I grin up at the ceiling. Finger down; now it’s only a matter of time until I get my tongue in there and then . . . Well, why not? Stranger things have happened. If no one’s been to Hell and returned, who’s to stay there’s no ski resort down there?


End file.
